SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
Accepting Offers - Tuesday, Sept. 26, 2017
Indian/Polish Wedding - Thursday, Sept. 21, 2017
The Builder - Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2017
Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017


Monday, Dec. 23, 2002 @ 12:47 am
Oleander



Coloured paper lays strewn across my couch. Ribbons and bows, cards and envelopes, whispers of my parents voices and swirls of Karen's perfume.

My fathers eyes still pour into my body: his searching for my acceptance of his gift. Him watching me fit the sockets on the ratchet while balancing the shiny red tool box on my lap. Could I be, just perhaps, the son of this family. I really feel that way most of the time. And you know, it feels right.

I feel like I'm there to protect my mother as we cross the street or as I drive her out for groceries.

This afternoon I was chasing a renegade chicken around the paddock through ankle-deep mud. The hen sprinted into the brambles, and I stopped short. My brain switched gears right then. I need change. I need to get away from here.

It's come to that part of the wheel again, the rut-side down of the tire. The mud isn't as bad as it could be. I'm not struggling with the heaviness, but it's pulling me down. Why am I sinking in?

Work has only been getting better. The Christmas party was more than I could have hoped for. People know who I am. I was taken out for the Hangover Lunch on Friday, and I talked salary with the boss. The money is more than I'd expected, even though I didn't expect much above a non-insulting level.

It's more about the inside of me. There is a struggle in me. One side argues to wait and believe in romance. That side tells me to wear long braids and wait for the night when the knight will arrive. The other side argues that men are very simple one-track mind creatures. This is reality: scum, pigs, sex-crazed, superficial, lazy. But it's not reality, because I know that reality is somewhere in between.

Miss S gloats (well, she simply tells the story but it comes out so braggish) about how a boy from the snowboard shop asked her out on a date. She complains of butterflies and how this boy is unlike her typical date: "I don't know what he likes in a girl!". It makes me gag how naive she is. "He doesn't seem like the player-type."

He fucking asked you out at the snowboard shop.

So, I'm so smart right? I know everything. I understand. And then I'm left with nothing and nobody. Right there shows how stupid I am. I'm staring across the room at a cat and a tool box. Dad wants to fix me too.

Things have to roll around to the next straightaway now. I need to take some time to tighten the loose bolts and file off the rough edges of my confidence.

There are big decisions to be made soon. Where the hell am I going?


Roots | Shoots